


like a cancer to our hearts

by distelstaart



Category: Clover - 平川哲弘 | Tetsuhiro Hirakawa
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distelstaart/pseuds/distelstaart
Summary: Falling in love with Misaki is a lot more humiliating than Gen could ever have suspected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set after chapter 162 and the conclusion of the Naruga arc.

 

 

–––and then he grins, looking you straight in the eyes like you really are his equal, and you... you get heady, just about ready to throw up. Strange thoughts are flitting about in your head, all of them beginning with the way his stare pierces right through you and ending at the cocky tilt of his head as he stands there smirking.

And you think, this is it.

You will never be rid of it.

 

* * *

 

You're starting to think he's making you his little bitch without even knowing it. Days pass, and you're slowly realizing there is not a thing you wouldn't do for this guy. At the beach, you're certain of it.

The fact that he never turns away from you except when you're about to show your gratitude turns you fucking crazy. He ought to know, _he ought to know_ how serious you are about this, how it rips you apart not knowing if your feelings reached him. Only in those instances he keeps his back turned, and in yourself, you suddenly find the desire to possess this person who is the exact opposite of aloof except for when he really, really isn't.

 

* * *

 

All things said, you feel warmly for him. So when the call comes, you don't hesitate for a second. Of course, the one time the idiot actually calls for your help, it's not for himself but for another member of the ragtag band of misfits he's slowly starting to gather around him. You don't mind, the debt you owe him covers that and far more.

(This debt is burning hot and heavy inside you, and you think... you start to think it might be something else.)

 

* * *

 

Somehow you find yourself wanting to know more about this idiot, but get this: As narcissistic as he sounds, he really doesn't talk much about himself. After listening to him blabber for a couple hours you've learned ten new designations for the common bass, but nothing about him. You're okay with that, let the guy keep his privacy.

(Sometimes you see something flashing across his face that you can't decipher. He's starting to notice, too, you think.)

Misaki's a live example of "show, don't tell". Everything really important about him you've pieced together a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

He's asked you something about Yui. You were distracted, staring at the line of his collarbone, half covered by the black sweatshirt he's wearing today, so you didn't notice.

He did.

He startles you with how abruptly he stands up. You look up, but you can't see his face against the blaring sun. Fuck, you think. Fuck, fuck, _fuck **.**_

You part on a jarring note. Staring at his back as he jogs away without looking back, you can't decide whether that's a good or a bad thing. At least it's out in the open now.

 

* * *

 

Or not. Misaki seems determined to ignore the things that transgressed as well as any realizations he may have come to. It is admirable, really, how even reality has come to bow before the steadfast force of his iron will, because your conversations don't even turn awkward with suppressed feelings. An observer unschooled in the art of Misaki-watching would inevitably come to the conclusion that all existing awkwardness lies, in fact, entirely on your side. Consequently, he'd miss the shifting eyes, the way Misaki is never facing you directly anymore, his confused (even more so than normal) prattling about things that don't matter.

(It warms you that, despite all of this, Misaki still won't let go of your company; that he won't let the connection between you peter out to die in a disappointingly easy manner. Misaki's the link between you and your (his) friends, and you know full well that if you lose him, you lose about ninety percent of your social circle.

Strangely enough, that thought doesn't bother you at all.)

 

* * *

 

You meant what you said to the Hammer Head guy: There were seldom instances you’ve been so wholeheartedly glad to be on the receiving end of a practical prank. The feeling of being needed by a person so fiercely independent leaves you undeservedly prouder than you can remember being in a long time; it leaves you content to stay by his side even through being beaten up and down the lemon tree. The shock on his face after he discovers your bruised form on the bed where you’ve been ambushed in your sleep, being tended to by what’s his face (a goon of the ally variety who’s surprisingly good with bandages) satisfies you on a primal level.

“That’s low”, he says after a while, still shell-shocked – when he’s really shaken, Misaki ceases his inane chattering immediately. You complain a little about your (actually really fucking aching) body, just to sting him a little and to distract yourself from your booming heartbeat.

Misaki’s face takes on a hunted quality, his eyes darting through the room in something that’s almost nervousness, his fists opening and closing again.

Not enough. Still nowhere near dangerous enough.

 

* * *

 

You start getting into fights. More than usual, anyway; actually really dangerous fights you half provoke – walking through rank alleys after dark, intervening in every shitstain of a mugging, against guys who are twice as big as you and don’t hesitate to get a little help from their buddies or their weapons.

You’re strong, you know you can take them on (and beat them into next week, the little shits, when did they get so arrogant?), but they still leave their mark: a bruised rib, a black eye, a limp in your step. Your jaw is permanently swollen now and your knuckles are scarring over.

Last week Sanada saw you. He looked at you strangely and yelled at you to better not be fucked in the head again, last time was a fucking _bother_. Cheerfully, you reassure him that you’re not – even if you’d never admit it, you’re pretty grateful for his concern, which _he_ ’d in turn never admit to harbour for you.

Sanada just shakes his head and tells you to fucking sort your shit out in a manner that won’t leave the street thugs traumatized for life and that it’s your fault it’s getting boring around here. You flip him the finger and turn it into a wave with a wide grin. Friends. It’s good to have them.

 

* * *

 

Misaki invites himself over for lunch and also in order to harp on your case. He snarks a lot, visibly annoyed that you’re going to waste all the hard work he’s spent on you and turn psycho again (his words, not yours). He slaps you over the head and calls you a stupid baldy who didn’t repent properly.

You must’ve looked too bored or too accepting or _something_ (his reaction is a step in the right direction, but it’s still not what you’re shooting for, and you’re considering what, exactly, you still have to break in order to finally crush his composure in your hands), because suddenly he steps up to you and pulls you down by your shirt until your face is inches away from his own.

“What the fuck are you doing”, he says, not quite dangerously, but there are hints of agitation in his clenched fingers and the way his eyes unsmilingly stare right into your own.

You realize that it’s been a long time since you were so close to him. What you don’t realize is that you’re lifting your hand to circle the wrist by which he has you by the collar as you stare straight back, transfixed by his glare.

Something inconsequential tumbles from your mouth while all you can concentrate on is how you can feel his pulse through the thumb pressing partly into his palm, right over the most vulnerable part of his wrist. You tighten your grip to the point of pain and are pretty satisfied when he rips his hand away, cradling the red prints you’ve left on his skin. He tsks and yells some more, pointing wildly at you before stalking away. Maybe he’s starting to get the point or something.

At the very least he doesn’t think you’re crazy anymore.

 

* * *

 

It’s after your first serious knife-wound that Misaki storms in, completely incensed, and getting even more so just by spotting your bandaged form relaxing against the sofa cushions. The docs let you leave after swearing you to complete bedrest for the next few days and initially, you planned to relax for the rest of this really goddamn shitty day. You feel a bit ashamed really. You never meant to let it escalate like this.

(So you say, but really, not even you can tell anymore who you’re trying to kid.)

Misaki is like a storm, completely outraged, grabbing you by the collar and not minding your aching side one bit.

“What in the hell is your fucking problem”, he screams, punching you in the face, and seemingly only getting more angry when you have the gall to look _embarrassed_. You’re surprised you’re not lying in a corner of your room already, you’ve never known Misaki to pull his punches.

The thing is, you really can’t justify your actions, not even to yourself – you’re not about to admit that this entire sting has been a sad little cry for attention, _fuck_ , your ears are burning just thinking about it. When did you get so pathetic anyway?

It’s unfortunate that this realization should come about at the exact moment that you have exactly what you were shooting for: Misaki’s complete and undivided attention. His eyes are set on yours almost violently, and he’s so upset his breath is actually unsteady – he’s sucking in small, irregular half-gasps of air in between long-drawn out wheezes, like any second now he’s going to start taking you apart for real. You should feel entirely gleeful about it (and a small part of you does, because teasing Misaki to oblivion is something you engage in so often it’s engraved into your DNA by now), but somehow through all of that, what’s got you in its thrall right now is mostly confusion and something that you’re increasingly alarmed to identify as shame. Because the truth is, you’ve never really thought about what you’d do with this attention once you had it.

You certainly didn’t count on it being _quite_ this volatile, because with every passing second that you sit there stupidly with your mouth open, Misaki grows even more infuriated and his fist’s already clenching for another go at your face. _Shit_ , he’s expecting you to answer any moment now, godfuckdamn–

In your panic, you decide to do what every self-respecting twelve-year-old in front of his crush would do:

You babble.

No shit, Misaki, you just had to let it all out, for once, yanno? You’ve maybe been stressed lately, maybe a bit thirsting for some action, and what’s it to him anyway – he’s the one monopolizing the fun stuff in your district. Fuck this wound already, so what if you got burned this time, you couldn’t have known that kind of coward would bring a knife to a fist-fight. Who even does that?

You’re very careful not to look directly at Misaki throughout this entire diatribe, because God knows this shit’s already humiliating enough, so you miss the exact moment his fists lower. You only notice something’s off when he keeps letting you talk unhindered.

To be honest, you were expecting to be shut up by a punch to the jaw long before now. In fact, you were kinda counting on it – have him vent his anger on your face for a bit, let him lord it over your head for the next three months and maybe by the time you emerge from the hole in the ground that you are undoubtedly going to dig yourself into after this, he’ll even talk to you again.

This was _such_ a fucking terrible idea.

Your cheeks are burning and your entire neck feels hot by the time your sad rambling peters out. You almost don’t dare turn your head back to the room’s other occupant.

When a minute goes by and there’s still only suspicious silence from Misaki’s end, you force yourself. The tendons in your neck feel like they’re creaking with how rigid you’ve held yourself up to now, and the adrenalin has worn off, leaving you tired and strung out. Your wound is smarting again, too. You want to be done with this shitty day already, and so, already wallowing in self-pity, you brace yourself for the inevitable condemnation.

Misaki just looks kinda dumbfounded.

Really, his shoulders have slumped in confusion and he’s looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, one that’s even stupider than your current one. You can almost muster enough energy to get pissed.

Great, whatever; he thinks you’re a nutcase. Brilliant.

“This is so fucking pathetic”, he says, almost disbelievingly, and you flinch. Misaki just shakes his head.

“Let me tell you something,” he starts again, almost conversationally and suddenly remarkably calm. His fingers are drumming a beat onto where they’re settled on his hip, and his face is turned up as if he’s reading his words off the ceiling. “you stupid fucking idiot. When you want to say something, you say it. When you want to do something,” He shifts slightly in your direction, and you’re almost surprised to find his eyes pointed at you again.

There’s something predatory in them you’re not quite sure you like.

“When you want do something, you do it. And when you simply _want_ something,” You find yourself pushed to the wall with astonishing speed, his face pushed up close against yours, and your overstressed mind finally blanks out completely. He hovers for a while, scrutinizing your every slightest twitch, before he leans in and rasps against your lips.

“You take it.”

And this, to your everlasting humiliation, is where you faint.

 

* * *

 

“You are the lamest fucking person I’ve ever had the bad luck to get to know, just so you know. And believe me, that’s a hell of an impressive achievement.”

You’re still laying backside on your bed, your hands covering most of your face. From somewhere beside you, Misaki continues to drone on almost disinterestedly.

“The doctors said you should be fine now if you take your meds and don’t move a single inch. Also orange juice. Do you have that? It’s supposed to help.”

There’s the rustling sound of turning pages. He’s probably helped himself to your mag collection. You only hope he hasn’t torn up your newest _Number_ , you’ve yet to read it.

“You listening, baldy? Your wound’s fine, the patch is only bled through a _little bit_.” You do think you’re spotting some unprecedented sarcasm in Misaki’s tone. “Fainting like a girl because of, like, a thimble full of blood.” He pauses for a moment. “Is that even a word? Thimble? Nevermind, doesn’t matter. The point is, Gengen,”

More rustling. Somehow that moniker is making you feel dizzy again. You almost feel compelled to try to spy Misaki through the gaps between your fingers. You wonder what kind of face he’s making.

God, but you have it _bad_.

“Hey, you gonna chip in anytime soon? I know you’re awake.”

You feel the bed dip beside you. The air above your face turns warm and humid, and there’s hair tickling your bandaged knuckles.

You suppose you can’t put it off any longer.

When you remove your hands, the sudden brightness blinds you for a short time, but soon you’re left staring into amber eyes.

“You know, I’da mauled you right now if you weren’t fainting like a princess left and right.” With every word he speaks, a puff of warm air knocks against your lips.

“Cut the shit, Misaki”, you say queasily.

“This what you wanted, Gengen?” He crushes his lips against yours, moving them apart so he can bite at the lower one savagely. He’s a warm, steady presence above you, carding burning fingers around your neck so you hold still as he bruises your mouth again and again. Every once in a while he soothes the cuts he inflicts on you with his tongue, and you groan helplessly into it.

“You hard?”, he murmurs. “Probably not a good idea to do this then.” And he swings himself up on top of you, his hands and knees caging you in so you can’t escape (as if you would).

“Swear to God, Misaki, if this is some kind of pitydeal, your ass is grass,” you growl against his mouth.

“Who’d pity such a dumbfuck as you? No, this is one hundred my own stupid decision. Head up.” You give him the once-over with sharp eyes, but when he seems to mean every silly word he says, you obey. Immediately he leans down to bury his nose in your neck.

There’s a short period of time where neither of you are moving. Misaki’s breathing heavily into your shoulder, and you think you’d probably do the same if you weren’t so miserably weak right now. Your vision is hazy again (those were some strong painkillers, you think, thoughts diffusing), and you’re pretty sure the only reason you haven’t passed out yet again is the mix of hope-arousal-confusion that’s speeding through your mind and veins. Your chest feels tight as you wait for Misaki to speak up again. When he does his voice is muffled and every word reverberates against your throat.

“I’ll say this once and only once, Gengen, so listen up. Since you so _graciously_ ,” he bites the word out as if it’s poison, “brought it to my attention, the magnificent me has realized that he’d rather not see you dead. Or getting stabbed, or bleeding out. In fact, he’d greatly prefer it if you’d just keep yourself unhurt so he can bash your head in himself the next time you do something so _monumentally braindead_.” The last two words are hissed out against your ear, the sharp bursts of air displacing the hair there. He laves your no doubt flaming red earlobe with his tongue before nibbling on it some more.

“Hey dipshit,” he murmurs. “If I wasn’t completely sure you’d pass out the moment I did so, I’d have fucked the stupid out of you by now.”

You huff a puff of laughter.

He’s absolutely right, of course. The only reason you haven’t come in your pants yet is your head fogging up every moment your dick even tries to turn into an erection. Everything’s hurting just laying there limply, and Misaki’s so close you can’t think. So you close your eyes.

He leans up for a last kiss on your mouth.

“Sleep, you idiot. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

You dare to hope it’s been worth it.

 

..

 

..


End file.
